Waiting for Sunday Night to End
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: Angela thinks about her obsession with Jordan Catalano on a boring Sunday night.
1. Chapter 1

The music was too loud, everything was too loud, even the thoughts in my head. I couldn't get things to the right level. Hold on, I've got to turn the music down. Okay, that's better. It's Sunday night, that slow dead time night that makes me want to kill myself. School looms ahead like this, this thing. This thing you can't avoid. It's never more clear that there are five more school days to go then on Sunday night.

I wanted to not think about Jordan Catalano, I wanted that, even though thinking about him made me feel, alive. Sort of. But dead in a way, too. I wanted to just own him, possess him, I was obsessed with him. This wasn't healthy. This wasn't a relationship like my parents had, or even like Sharon Cherski had with Kyle. It was mostly fantasy and mostly I was okay with that.

But I wasn't. I was miserable. He was all I thought about and he, he didn't even notice me. Like I was invisible. For all I knew I was. Like those cartoons you see when you're a kid, Tom and Jerry and stuff like that, where the character falls into this invisible ink and then they're invisible? Maybe that had happened to me.

I would just not think about it, about him. I could do that. I could control my mind, my thoughts. I could. Oh, who was I kidding? I saw Jordan Catalano leaning against the lockers, closing his eyes because he always closed his eyes. Sleeping in class, his head down on the desk. Walking in that group of friends of his who I hated, they always seemed to be in the way. Smoking under the bleachers. Sitting in his car. I couldn't stop thinking about it, about him, seeing him, wanting him.

I could hear my family downstairs. My dad telling Danielle to do something. My mom telling my dad to do something. The smell of the dinner my dad cooked still kind of lingering in the air. He was a good cook. This was something I'd always sort of taken for granted about him. I guess I took a lot for granted.

Sometimes I wished that I was, like, more like Rayann. She didn't get emotionally involved. That's all I was with Jordan Catalano, that's all I was. She could, like, separate herself from things, from people, from situations. Whereas I, on the other hand, was capable of none of that. I was so emotionally involved with Jordan Catalano before I'd even said like eight whole sentences to him that it just, wasn't, funny.

None of this was funny. I could see Brian spinning in those lazy circles on his bike. I could see my dad talking to that, that _woman_ out by the car. I could see Rickie in the girls' bathroom covering up another black eye with make-up. I could see Sharon with Kyle's stupid ring on her finger and the yarn all wrapped around it so it would fit her. That yarn. That was a big deal. To have that ring, to have that yarn all wrapped around it, to have that person, to belong somewhere, with someone. I didn't think Jordan even had a ring.

Okay, so Sunday night had to end sometime, didn't it? It was just, it would be easier if he was obsessed with me. Then I could pretend that I was important and fascinating. This way I just know the truth. That I'm not. That I'm safe and probably boring. That I'm, like, no one he'd even notice.

It's funny about obsessions, the like, life of them. Like a star that either becomes a super nova or a black hole. I think I know which one this is headed for. No. It's weird to think of it. Like, at first, when whatever it was inside of me decided I liked something about Jordan Catalano, and I don't even know what that one thing was, it was just weird. It became like a conversation with myself, like some alien in my brain saw him and went all mental and the calm, rational part of me was like, 'Oh, him? That boy? Well, let's see…he is good looking,' And that alien thing was jumping up and down, shaking, saying, 'No, you don't understand, we have to _have _this, we have to _own_ it,' And somewhere along the way the rational part of me was just burned away, and I would see him and not be able to think, it was just this need. This animalistic base instinct need, and in a way it felt good. At first. Like doing opiates. But it just goes on and on, the need wearing me down, and it doesn't feel good anymore but without it I don't know what I'd feel so I…I guess I need it.

Things are calming down. Danielle went to bed. My parents aren't telling each other what to do. I'm just sitting here, waiting for Sunday night to end.


	2. Chapter 2

Jordan Catalano. Man, I just couldn't get him out of my head. When he walks down the hallways at school, it's like, slow motion. And I just wish, one time, he'd notice me like I notice him. And I mean, Rayann's right. I want him in reality. I do. But it's so easy to just dream it, to keep it two dimensional, or whatever.

It was Monday morning. Any minute my mother would yell up to me. There was just these few minutes of calm before that would happen. I was looking at the window sill, how the sun looked on it, thinking about Jordan and wondering what he was doing. I didn't even know anything about him, not really. Not where he lived, what his family was like, nothing. He was mysterious. And I guess I liked it that way. Jordan wasn't all pinned down by actual details. Like, take Brian Krakow. Not only was he my dorky neighbor but I knew everything about him. I knew what every inch of his bedroom looked like, what his parents sounded like when they were annoyed with him. How his kitchen smelled. The angle of his T.V. to the couch. I just knew so much about him that it was like what I knew about myself.

"Angela!"

Something about my mother's shrill voice in the morning made me want to stab someone, preferably her. I wanted, I yearned with all my being for it to be Saturday or Sunday morning, when I could stay under these covers and dream. But it wasn't. It was Monday and I was forced to get up in the cold, get dressed, go to school. Torture chamber.

"Angela! Are you up!"

"Yeah!"

Oh God it was freezing. I pulled on my black tights, my short skirt, my plaid shirt. My boots that I really liked. They were like combat boots and every day was a war zone. I dressed for it, at least my boots were right. Jordan. Sigh. I hoped I'd see him today, catch my usual glimpses. My usual brief views.

It was just toast for breakfast. My mom made it and it was kinda burnt. Not bad. Just a little around the edges but if my dad had made it, even just toast, it would have been perfect. So I smeared it with jelly and ate it, felt a headache coming on as Danielle babbled about something to my mother.

School buses smell weird. Like all the kids who have ever rode on them, ever, and their fear and hatred of…whatever. School. Life. The kid they like that is ignoring them. Bullies. Mean teachers that make you feel stupid, or uninspired, or terrified that your life will end up kind of colorless, kind of pointless.

At school , though, I'm enveloped by Rickie and Rayann. I feel almost like we're family. I mean, I couldn't keep up with Sharon after awhile. Band. Yearbook. Head of this committee and that committee. She was as stressed out as a 40 year old business woman, always rushing around. I didn't get that way of thinking anymore. I, maybe I didn't want to be involved. Maybe I didn't want to be on yearbook and thinking of some stupid theme. Maybe when I saw Rayann and Rickie running from the school, maybe I wanted to be going with them.

I know what my parents think of them. I know they're not as respectable to them like Sharon and Brian are. But my parents don't see the whole picture. They don't understand how Sharon is after some sort of glory, some sort of cache with someone. How clueless Brian is, how breathtakingly thoughtless he can be. They don't see how Rickie takes care of Rayann and anyone else in his immediate vicinity. They don't see how Rayann lives life, just lives it moment to moment, not analyzing every single thing. Not thinking the life out of every action, like I sometimes do. My parents don't see how Rickie and Rayann are actually good for me.

Off the bus, and the blue sky and the sun aren't real, the way the grass and the leaves look really green, like the most green green has ever been, that's not real. What's real is the school, and the florescent lights that sputter and blink and make that noise, that noise that gives you a headache by the end of the day. And the teachers with their bored faces, and the football players who push by you in the hall because you don't matter. And the cheerleaders who get all the attention for some twisted sex reason. And kids getting shoved up against the lockers, and girls crying in the bathroom stalls, and me skipping classes and trying to catch up with Jordan Catalano.

So I'm swept up in hugs and kisses with Rayann and Rickie, and I smile. I see Sharon glare at me. Brian clears his throat. And then, like magic, Jordan walks by. Time stops when I see him. The necklace around his neck, the way his hair covers his eyes, the shape of his lips, the movement of his body as he walks. Rickie and Rayann notice me noticing him, and they smile their indulgent smiles, they nudge me as if every cell in my body isn't aware that that's _Jordan Catalano_. As if I'm not attuned to him.

But he isn't attuned to me. He just goes by and my heart sort of shrivels, the electricity shorting out. It actually physically hurts to see him, to see him just walk by and not stop, not say my name, not anything. I see my pain over it reflected in Rickie and Rayann's eyes. Much weaker, but still. It makes me love them that they sort of, you know, understand.

I hate so many of my classes. The teachers make me want to cry. Fixing bra straps and wearing old suits, obviously old suits. Eating sad little tuna fish sandwiches. A little bunch of grapes. Talking about stuff that doesn't matter to me, that doesn't interest me. Things interest me. I know they do. Just not anything they talk about here. What good does it do for, you know, life? Knowing these twisted little mathematical formulas? It's not like I'm going to go to MIT and become some physicist. It's not like I'm going to work for NASA. It's just about beside the point, all this stupid math. And history. It's in the name. His story. And it really is. It's his story and I'll tell you who he is. A rich, land owning, possibly aristocratic or royal white European. That is the stories we're getting. Maybe that story is irrelevant now.

So I skip class. I run down the halls with Rayann, and I watch her hair fly out behind her. Her crazy hair. Her sad eyes. I love that girl. She's my white rabbit. I hide out under the bleachers with Rickie, eating some spicy Spanish food he brought from home, and it tastes so different from anything I've ever eaten. And I see Jordan smoking under the bleachers, and he holds the cigarette so cool. Everything he does is so cool. And Rickie whispers, "Go talk to him," in that insistent, pushy way that people have when they know you are frozen.

"Uh, hey," I say, looking down, tucking my hair behind my ear. Crossing my legs, twisting my hands. And he glances over at me and takes a drag.

"Oh. Hey," he says, and his voice is slow and calm, scratchy and sexy. Perfect. What do I say now? What do I do?

"So, uh, how are you?" I say, feeling stupid. I want to talk to him but I don't know what to say. I want to get him to notice me but I don't know what to do. I'm like totally lost, in the dark woods, no flashlight and no map, no compass.

"Good," He doesn't ask how I am. Does that, like, mean anything? Maybe he doesn't care. I look at his eyes, such a pretty blue. I blink a lot around him. I'm out of my skin around him.

"Hey, Jordan, c'mon!" One of his friends from over there, beyond the bleachers and our little world with the sun coming down through the slats, and he turns his head quick, pitches his cigarette, and then he turns back to me and really looks at me.

"Well, I gotta go," he says in his slow sexy way, and I nod. Who am I to keep him? I watch him go, watch the slouchy way he walks, his head down. Watch the other kid who had called to him talking loud and I feel really irritated with him for intruding. I go back to Rickie, eat some more of his spicy food, try not to cry.

"You talked to him," Rickie says in this encouraging way, and I shrug.

"Yeah, but what good did it do?" I say, and lean my head on his shoulder and he pats my back.

"It did some good," Rickie said, "you'll see,"

I look back at the windows to the school and from here you can't see into the classrooms. They're just these blank, smooth surfaces, likes pools, like oceans.

"You'll see," Rickie repeated, and I saw Jordan walking away, getting closer to the school, and Rayann ran by him.


	3. Chapter 3

Low blood sugar feeling after lunch. I felt like I might pass out. Watched things out the windows and the teachers' voices just became this soft drone. Background noise, kind of like the heaters. Like music in an elevator. My head on my hand, my eyes closing and then opening a little. I struggled to stay awake. I could hear Jordan's sexy voice in my head, could hear it anytime I wanted to just like pressing play on a tape player.

It was, like, really kind of weird if you thought about it. This obsession. I didn't want to be obsessed with him, with Jordan Catalano. But I was. Everything in my body would start to race if he was around, my pulse, my thoughts, everything going at a thousand miles per hour, and I'd feel this feeling that sort of seemed like happiness when he was near, but it wasn't happiness. I don't know what it was. So what part of me was it that didn't want to be obsessed with him and what part of me kept it going? I mean, like, wasn't I doing it? Wasn't I continuing to be obsessed with him somehow against my own wishes?

One more glimpse of him before I went home, that's all I hoped for. Drifted through the halls to my locker after the last bell, and I saw Rickie and Rayann, laughing and talking to each other, brighter than everyone else. It was dark in these halls. Dim. Like some shady subconscious. Sometimes I felt, like, that I wouldn't even be able to remember any of this once it was gone. Not even the sharp things, like my hair soaking wet from the downpour and dripping all over me and then I see Jordan and I hide because I look like a drowned rat. Not even the funny smell of this school, like formaldehyde from the labs and perfume and cologne and the cafeteria, that sickening smell of the mass produced lunches. Nothing, I'd remember nothing. Not even the boring hours stuck in classrooms wishing with every fiber that I was somewhere else.

My locker was open, I was reaching for my coat, Rickie was walking toward me from his locker, and then I saw him. Jordan. He walked by, barely glanced at me, but I followed him with my eyes. Followed him until he reached the stairs and descended out of sight.

I would stop thinking about him. I'd just stop. I didn't have to think about him, not really. So I tried to turn my mind to other things but I couldn't remember anything else but him. We were walking to Rayann's house, apartment I guess. They were talking. I was half-listening, half trying to jerk myself out of this psychosis I had about Jordan Catalano. Up the steps to her building and there were so many of them, the apartment building sort of teetered on the top of all these steps, up in the air with the pigeons and the planes.

Rayann's mom was usually home after school, well, sometimes. She had what Rayann would call an "irregular schedule". I guess that meant Rayann never knew when she'd be home or not. But she was home now, bringing us desserts and hors d'oeuvres, sipping some icy cocktail and wearing a long flowing dress like a goddess. She smiled that sweet, kind of out of it smile at us, the same smile Rayann had sometimes.

I bit into the mozzarella sticks and the little triangle slices of cheesecake. I watched Rickie take sips of Amber's drink, watched Rayann make one for herself. Watched the light shine off the colored glass beads that hung in the doorways. Being at Rayann's place was like being in a different world. It was, like, intoxicating. 

"Okay, baby, how's Jordan?" Amber said to me, turning her dazed little eyes to me. I began to blush in her attention, looked down, chewed the bite that was in my mouth.

"I don't know. He hardly even talks to me,"

She smiled her wise goddess smile and brought her drink to her lips.

"Don't worry, honey. He will,"

When she said it I believed it, just for that second. But doubts would reassert themselves. And it was getting late. I'd have to go home for supper. Rickie kissed my cheek and Rayann hung around my neck before I went, and I didn't want to go.

"Bye, Angelica, see you tomorrow," Rayann called, and Rickie nodded as he took Amber's empty glass to the sink and washed it. I went down all the steps, descended to my own boring life again.

My house. My boring house. My mother infuriating me by just being there. And my dad. I couldn't stop thinking about that woman he talked to by the car. I knew he was flirting. I wasn't stupid. I wasn't, like, clueless. But I'd thought, I'd really thought that my parents weren't exactly people like that, that they had no choice but to be together because they were my parents.

Danielle babbled a lot at supper, and I just pushed my food around my plate. I saw my dad kind of frowning at me for it but I didn't want to eat. I was stuffed from all the desserts and appetizers anyway.

"Angela, do you think you could eat something?" my mother said in that self-righteous way of hers that I hated. That self-righteous voice she'd always used on me.

"Maybe I'm not hungry, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. You need to eat,"

I sighed, speared a bite of food and put it into my mouth. There was really no way to win with her.

I thought of calling Jordan, just dialing the numbers and waiting to hear his voice inside my ear, inside my head. The thought of doing that, of just like calling him up made me dizzy. I couldn't do it. What if he said, "who are you?" He might say that. He just might annihilate me with three words. 

The familiar knock at the door. I didn't have to answer the door or even look over there to know that it was Krakow. He came over almost every night for some stupid reason or another. I sat on the couch watching some cartoon that Danielle had put on. My dad answered the door.

"Angela! Brian's here!" My dad said, and Brian stood next to him by the front door. I stood up, tucked my hair behind my ears, and walked over.

"Yeah? What?" I said, and he looked thrown off for a minute, then he composed himself.

"Uh, hi. Um, you know that, like, that sort of like science project we're going to do? Or we could do for extra credit?"

I licked my lips and watched him sputter and stammer about some science thing, wishing that I wasn't standing in my front hall listening to Brian but that I was somewhere cool and exciting with Jordan, like one of those clubs where bands played or a rave or somewhere cool like that, like Let's Bolt. And maybe then Jordan would come over to me and say hi in his slow and sexy way, and he'd lean down and take a leaf out of my hair and comment on the pretty color of my eyes and…

"So do you?" Brian said, jolting me from my thoughts.

"What? No. I don't even know what you're talking about, Krakow," I glared at him and he narrowed his eyes at me. Such was my life. I wanted Jordan Catalano but I always ended up with Brian Krakow.


	4. Chapter 4

It was like being crazy. Like intrusive thoughts or whatever. My mind stuck in a record groove, his name repeating over and over, "Jordan, Jordan, Jordan". I watched Brian wander back toward his house, watched the cartoons engage in their violent behavior.

If I could somehow break through to him, let him know how much I wanted him without seeming so desperate. But there was no way to do it, no way to break this cycle. When I would think of how much time he probably spent thinking about me and compared it to how much time I spent thinking about him I always shuddered.

The phone sort of beckoned to me. It could link us so easily, in this intimate little dance, his voice in my ear. My voice in his ear. We'd be like in each other's heads. It mocked me, the phone, sitting there filled with all the possibilities of the universe in its cheap plastic casing. But I turned away from it. I couldn't just call him.

Restless, bored, edgy. I didn't know what to do with myself. I could watch T.V. I could go upstairs and look at my homework. I could read Anne Frank and envy her because she was trapped in the attic with the boy she loved. But maybe it was like, she loved him out of necessity. That weird precarious unfair world she lived in, all her hopes and dreams and whatever, all of that taken from her, or at least put on hold. She had no choice but to become insanely in love with someone she could see everyday. Someone who whispered and breathed in the quiet way that they all did to avoid detection. Unlike Anne I had a choice, sort of. I didn't have to be this crazy. So what was wrong with me?

I used to like thinking about him, picturing his face in my mind. Hearing his voice in my head while I took a shower, imagined talking to him, bumping into him in the halls, the lockers closing in around us. My startled expression, his clear blue eyes focused on me. The accidental brush of his hand against mine. I liked looking forward to seeing him in school, seeing him tilt his head back, close his eyes. But something has changed. I still thought about him, still thought about and pictured all those things. But I didn't like it. I felt forced into thinking about him, like my brain had lost the ability to think of anything else. It was almost like a disability. I felt damaged.

Rayann amazed me. She'd just go up and talk to some boy, ask him to go places or call her. She was, like, fearless. It was almost like I carried the fear for both of us. In school I was afraid to even look at Jordan, like he'd catch me and know exactly what I was thinking.

So sick of myself. I could never, like, get away from myself. Was I the only one who felt this way? I grew weary of having to be around myself 24 hours a day and think my thoughts, fear my fears. I was tired of the way Jordan Catalano had crawled into my viscera and I couldn't get him out. I wanted a break from myself for just five minutes.

I had Jordan's number, of course I did. It was right in the phone book. I looked at it, his last name and the address and the number right there. It was written down on a piece of notebook paper but I knew it by heart. I had memorized it the second I saw it. I could call him, my fingers ached to dial the numbers. I was almost daring myself to do it. Call him, call him, my own mocking voice said in my head and then laughed. So much fear packed into two words, 'call him,'

I sighed, popped in a tape and let the music fill the room. I tried to just listen to it and block out my thoughts. I'd just listen to some music. Of course I couldn't call Jordan Catalano. He probably wasn't even home.

It was coming down to this thing, like I had to call him. I had no choice. And if he asked me who the hell I was I'd just have to deal with that. If he sounded bored and we had nothing to talk about then that would just be how it was. But his number burned in my brain and I had to at least try. Had to get outside of myself for at least a little while.

I picked up the phone, heard the dial tone, impersonal. Felt the smooth plastic against the palm of my hand. I felt dizzy. Jesus, what was I even doing?


	5. Chapter 5

I felt dizzy. The familiar objects that filled my room had taken on a sinister, skewed aspect. The darkness pressed so hard against the windows that it looked like it would break through. I took a shallow breath, all that I was capable of. The phone was in my hand, my heart was pounding. Do or die. I was going to call him.

Shaking, my fingers barely able to punch the right numbers, I still didn't know what I would say. I listened to the tiny rings in my ear with this sickening combination of hope and fear. I kind of felt like I was eating some gourmet chocolate with a huge juicy ant at its center. I was going to be sick. And it had rung three, four, five times. No one was there. No one would answer. What did I expect? Did I honestly think that Jordan Catalano would spend his nights at home like me?

"Hello?" It was him, his breathless voice as he ran from wherever to pick up the phone.

"Uh, hi, Jordan?" I sounded so stupid. I wished I hadn't done this. Too brazen for my own good. I wasn't Rayann who could just, like, do anything, say anything to anyone. Some people were like that and I just had to accept that I wasn't one of them.

"Yeah," Oh his voice, it made me feel like, I don't know, _melting._ And I loved how he just said the one thing, without rushing on with questions like I would have. He didn't know who it was, I was sure of that. If some boy I didn't recognize called and asked for me I'd be full of questions at this point. 'Who is this? How do I know you?' But he didn't.

"Uh, it's Angela," I said, and then I physically braced myself for the demolishing response. I held the phone with one hand and put my arm across my stomach and leaned forward slightly, ready to ward off a blow. Because if he said, 'who?' or 'why are you calling?' with that slight condescension that boys like him were a master at, then I didn't know. I didn't know what I'd do.

"Oh. Hi," I smiled. He didn't sound annoyed, or like he didn't know who the hell I was. He still might not, but if he didn't know who it was he was graciously pretending he did, and I loved him more for that. I was on the phone with Jordan, of all people, and I had nothing to say.

The seconds were stretching out, the seconds that I had to think of something to say. Why did this have to be so hard? There was a whole world out there, music and politics and all that crap and I couldn't think of one single thing to say.

"Uh, what's up?" I said, wishing I had thought of some reason to call him, something to pretend I had to say to him. Small talk was beyond me at this point.

"Not much," he said. I scrambled around in my head for some excuse, some reason to have called, and I'd have to think of something soon because I couldn't breathe, I felt almost faint, outside of myself, but alive for once. I liked this adrenaline rush, the blood pounding in my ears.

"Listen, did you hear if Tino's having a party this weekend?" I said, thanking Rayann in my head for having such a screwed up friend.

"No, I didn't hear anything. Did you?" he said, and I followed the tone and texture of his voice like a wave, getting lost in it, the sea spray in my eyes.

"Well, I thought Rayann said something about it, but I wasn't sure…" I felt secure with a nice lie to root me to the spot, so I wouldn't float off into the stratosphere. I licked my lips and imagined kissing his, those perfect pouty lips. I could see the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way the choker necklace he wore lay against that delicate spot at the base of his neck.

"Oh. Well, uh, let me know if you hear anything," he said, his speech almost deliciously slow. Maybe he was closing his eyes right now.

"Okay, yeah. I will. Cool. Uh, Jordan, I have to go,"

"Okay. Talk to you later," he said, "bye,"

"Bye,"

I hung up the phone gently, his voice still tingling in my ear. That was okay. I could breathe again.


End file.
